For All That We Are
by Boltera
Summary: The question, really, is quite simple. What will you sacrifice? After everything she's been through, Sarah Walker isn't sure if her life is the one she wants to live anymore. Being the Director of the Ring isn't a walk in the park after all...
1. Prologue

A/N: I've actually had this idea for a super long time, and, well, that's all I have to say. There are a lot of stories out there about What If... Chuck graduated, Chuck joined the CIA in Stanford, etc. Mine is more of a What If... Sarah Walker wasn't recruited by Graham? What If... Sarah Walker was... a bad guy? How did she become that way? How would she 'unbecome' that way? And then I started writing. I can't promise updates very often, but I do have a plan.

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Prologue

Life must be understood backwards; but... it must be lived forward - Soren Kierkegaard

**Burbank, California**

**January 13, 2063**

**2:10 **

I have a story to tell, a good one; or so I'd like to think. Or, I guess technically, I have a story to write, this story is not mine to tell. I'm only... preserving it. This story is about spies. It's about treason of the worst kind and innocent people corrupted beyond most. It's about passion and danger and action and excitement. It's also a love story, but we aren't quite there yet.

It's a story about Charles Irving Bartowski, and his immeasurable love for computers. It's about Bryce Larkin, who always wanted to do right by those he loved. This story is about John Casey, who definitely had a soft side - he just wouldn't admit it.

It's a story about a government conspiracy and a really really big computer. It's a story about a man who had a plot to take over the world, more or less.

Above all, this is a story about a girl called Samantha, who grew up to be a woman called Sarah, and tried out a bunch of other names along the way. And like I said before, this story isn't mine to tell. It's hers. But I'm pretty sure I'm the only one left to tell it.. so, here goes nothing.

**Boston, Massachusetts**

**May 14, 1985**

**15:00**

Samantha's first memory is oddly specific, as far as first memories go. She remembers, days before her fifth birthday, going to the mall with her father. She remembers her stroller suddenly stopping outside a fancy jewelry store.

Samantha was a relatively calm child, she wasn't close to perfect, no baby is, but she held off her attention-deprived tantrum for a good ten minutes. Which was actually a lot more than her father expected, he was impressed.

The first person to notice was an elderly woman, asking, "Shh, Shh, sweetie, where's your Mommy?" Little Sammy didn't bother answering. It was a well established fact, not a memory, that she was born without a mother. "Excuse me, but does anyone know where this little girl's parents are?"

By then, a crowd had gathered, unable to believe that some cold hearted person could just simply leave this defenseless child in a shopping mall. The elderly woman alerted a nearby mall cop, who began to panic. He'd never actually dealt with a "situation" before.

Then the cavalry arrived. A man pushed through the crowd, looking official in a big fancy uniform. He spoke clearly to the inexperienced cop.

"I'll take it from here," he glanced at the man's name-tag, "Dennis. You can go back to your rounds. I'll take this little angel to the security desk and search for her parents from there"

The unwavering authority in his voice convinced the crowd, easily. As if, for some reason, they would need convincing that this man was in charge. He lifted Samantha into his arms, she began to cry when she bristled against his itchy mustache. She didn't like it. Where was her Daddy?

The man didn't take her to the security desk, however. He took her outside, into the parking structure, and eventually buckled her into the back seat of a car. She was almost too interested in her new surroundings to notice the somewhat alarming situation unfolding in front of her.

When the car pulls out of the shady structure and into unfiltered sunlight, in freedom, the man pulls off the road and removes the uncomfortable mustache. He gives his daughter a playful wink. Little Samantha laughs and squeals and claps her hands. Daddy was playing a trick! Like some sort of sick version of hide and seek, one of her favorites.

"Darlin', that was some job you did back there! Whew, boy I didn't know you had it in you! That performance deserves an award, you know what I'm thinking?"

"Daddy, I can't read minds!"

"Really? I'll have to teach you that trick some time, but for now, how do you feel about some ice cream?"

"Yeah! Rocky Road! Rocky Road, Daddy! Please?"

"Sure thing darlin', I'll even let you get a double scoop!"

Samantha looked out the car window, practically vibrating in her seat with the joy of the impending treat. She noticed her Dad pat the sack sitting next to him in the passenger seat, and she thinks that, even though he's her Daddy, he's a little weird. But she loves him, heck, she'd love anyone who'd buy her a double scoop of Rocky Road.

**Hayward, Wisconsin**

**June 25, 1994**

**10:25**

Katie O'Connel was pedaling her bike happily across the street, on her way to somewhere, when she was hit by an armored car. Which is slightly worse than just a regular car since it's, simply put, armored. This isn't the first time.

As multiple people in multiple places, she's been hit by an armored car too many times to count. Ever since she learned to ride a bike, it's become one of her father's favorite cons. It's simple, it's easy, and it doesn't put him at any real risk. Except, this time doesn't go according to plan.

Just that morning, she'd gotten an unfortunate haircut. It was supposed to be a treat from Daddy, for being such a "sport" about living in a town called Hayward. He promised that she would only have to be Katie O'Connel for another day, so she smiled at him on her way to the barber's chair. Showing off her bright black and gold braces.

Half an hour later, she looked into the mirror and started to cry. She's never been one much for crying, so looking back on it she'll always blame this moment on overactive hormones. Being 14 sucks. Being 14 with a haircut from Hell is unbearable. So, her Dad placates her in the only way he knows how: Rocky Road. As long as she helps pay.

She goes through the ordeal as usual. While carelessly biking across the street, possibly on some adorable mission for her Grandma, a cute little girl is hit by a big ugly truck. People on the sidewalk gasp in surprise, the two armed guards in the truck jump out to help...

"What the..."

"Did we just hit something?"

"I don't know man, go look."

There's a quite murmuring on the street, she suddenly feels awkward. Her arms are too long, splayed out on the street, her bike is too little and too flowery. And her new haircut is the ugliest thing ever.

"It's just some punk kid! Hey, girlie, we got an important load here! Move it!"

A man on the street finally decides he shouldn't just be standing and watching. He runs over and grabs her around the waist with one arm, dragging her bike with the other. She's too shocked to protest. Or pick his pocket. The truck drove off.

"You should be more careful, where are your parents?" He asked, cautiously. She noticed that he was actually expecting an answer.

"Umm. Oh, my Mom is right over there. Uh, thanks," She mumbled, pointing in an obscure direction. She quickly hopped on her little bike and rode away, hoping her Dad wouldn't be too mad. From all the years living on the con, she'd learned many things about being a con man. One of them, that's she'd been forced to learn on her own, is that a good con man doesn't like to be a bad con man. And that there is no such thing as a good con man.

She makes her way back to the hotel, almost too afraid of her father to return. Truth is, she's never failed before. Never. She doesn't want him to see her cry, for him to say that a good con man doesn't cry. She wants to tell him that she's isn't a good con man, she's his daughter! That he should know better, that this is all his fault. She wants to ask him where her mother is, because she learned in her brand new school that Mother's are fairly important in the process of creating a new human being.

She slowly slides her key in the door and turns the handle. Her thoughts dissipate when she sees her father laying on the bed, painting designs in the air with his fingers. An empty bottle of something that was probably really expensive sitting on the table next to him. He doesn't move to acknowledge her presence, and it hurts. She can't.. explain it, but her heart hardens at the sight of him. Of his solution to this small failure.

"It's all right darlin' don't you worry. Itssnot your fault! Itssok. Your hair, itll grow out even... eventually," He slurs, continuing to move his hands about. She steps forward, as if that would somehow make him... pay attention.

"Dad..."

"No, darlin' look, see we'lls just have to do some different jobs now. Itssjuss the hair, you... you're still my lil' girl. Issokay."

She stands there stoically. This... this isn't real. It wasn't her _fault. _How can he not see that? These things happen, it's life, he should know, he's had much more experience than she has.

"And well, I guess we can't get any ice cream now, that's a shame, huh? No money, no reward. It's a shame darlin', it really is," He mumbles, still paying attention to his absolutely _fascinating_ hands. They fall quickly, and she knows that he has fallen asleep. Because this day has been so so hard on _him_.

She grabs her room key, turns off the lights, and walks out the door. If he won't get her some ice cream, after everything he's put her through, then she'll get it herself.

**San Diego, California**

**April 20, 1998**

**14:30**

She may hate Heather Chandler with every fiber of her being, but the girl has good choice in music. Jennifer Burton turned up her stereo and bobbed her head to Tubthumping, happy that the day was finally over. Excited that this stage of her life was almost over. Soon, she wouldn't have to worry about school anymore. It would be just her, her Dad, and the con.

Except, when she approached her house, there were too many cars with flashing lights for anything to be normal. Whatever that is. So she keeps driving, holding off on the panic attack that is rising past her throat. Everything is _fine_. Her Dad was already waiting for her. In that spot. The spot!

She thinks back to what he said, when they first moved to San Diego last year. He brought her to the woods, saying that if anything went wrong, he would leave a message for her here. By some random tree.

As she parks her car on the side of the road, she begins to pray. She hasn't done it many times in her life, but she figures it couldn't hurt to start now. She prays for her Dad to be waiting for her somewhere in the woods, she prays that he hasn't abandoned her now, when she needs him most.

Fear quickly turns to anger as she makes her way through the brush. This wasn't her fault. It was never her fault. Ever since that one incident in Nowheresville Wisconsin, she'd been the brain behind most of the cons. She's navigated her father out of a sticky spot with a "client" after he'd been caught having an affair with the man's wife. She convinced a hostile German businessman to invest in their fake business, even though the saleman he'd been dealing with was a shady character.

Their current con... what could have gone wrong? It was an international operation, dealing with a Russian businessman interested in moving his company to America. They convinced him the best way would be to put down a large payment to reserve office space, and they were planning on skipping town after her graduation. The only way it could have gone wrong... was...

If, somehow, her father changed the plan.

She found the tree, or what she hoped was the tree. Her father was nowhere in sight. She blinked to hold back tears. He still could have gotten away, a good con man can skip town whenever he wants. She laughed to herself. She was being ridiculous, he probably saw the cops and then went to get a haircut. She began to dig at the ground anyway. It was just to double check, she told herself.

She fingers quickly hit a solid object, pulling it out of the ground she saw it was a box. Taped shut. She took one of her favorite knives and cut the tape.

At first she didn't believe it. She shuffled through the papers inside, looking for something else. A clue, some form of guidance.

_In Case of Emergency, Love You, Daddy._

And then about half a million, in cash, give or take.

She threw the box down in anger, she wiped the tears from her eyes. Stupid! So, so, so, stupid! Come on little Jenny, you saw your Daddy being cuffed as you drove by! She'd denied it, but no more. She'd denied too much for too long. Her father had screwed up the con, one she had planned so perfectly that they wouldn't have had to con again for a long time! All he wanted was the money, he thought money would be enough for her. That when he was gone, all she would want... that all she would want is this stupid box! She ran her hands through her stringy hair, she tasted blood - realizing that she must have cut her lip on her braces.

She heard footsteps.

Without thinking, she flicked her wrist, sending her favorite blade spinning in the direction of the sound. It lands with a resounding thunk in a nearby tree, followed by a quick intake of air.

In front of her a large man pulls the knife out of his arm. He quickly reads the stunned look on her face. And then he laughs.

"Don't worry, you only grazed me, but this suit... I'll have to see if I can sew up this hole. This suit is too expensive to replace."

She quickly picks up the box, moments ago it was representative of her entire relationship with her father. Now it was her only possession in the world. This man wasn't going to take it from her.

"Who are you?" She demanded, her father had always taught her to take control of every situation. She wasn't about to let go of her training now.

But he laughed at her again, "I'm the man that arrested your father. Saved his life, more like it. Poor Bastard scammed some dangerous people."

She doesn't know what to think. How could throwing her father in prison save his life? What was this man going to do to her? How the hell is she going to get her knife back?

"My name is Ian Stone. I'm a CIA agent, and I want to save your life too."

This was it, she realized. Her final moment of freedom. She couldn't take this man, he was ten times her size, and definitely packing. And he had her only weapon. She slowly put her hands out in front of her, squinting her eyes in preparation of the eventually click of the cuffs.

But then he laughed again. All this man seemed to do was laugh at her. "No, no. I'm not going to arrest you! I'm here to recruit you. Your father has trained you well, and I can see you're adept at changing lifestyles. Here you're Jennifer Burton, in Wisconsin you're Katie O'Connel, in Cleveland it's Rebecca Franco... how do you feel about Sarah Walker?"

He held out her knife, and she looked into his eyes. Was he serious? He wanted her, a con-man's daughter, to uphold the law? She saw that he was serious. She saw that he didn't care. She didn't have a choice in the matter, this was the deal. Her father was going to jail and she was going to be pushed into a CIA shaped mold.

She took the knife.


	2. Don't Pass Go

A/N: I'm supposed to be studying for finals, not posting this. But here it is. Next update will be slow. And please, if you are one of those people who can't seem to stop complaining about the show, stop. From what I can see, no one on this site is qualified enough to write the show. Controversial author's note? Yes. Sorry, but aren't we here to celebrate everything that is great about a show we love?

Anyway, pay attention to the dates. We're going to be skipping around quite a bit this chapter. Still no Chuck, he'll be arriving soon though =)

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Don't Pass Go

"Any idiot can face a crisis - it's day to day living that wears you out." - Anton Chekhov

**Warsaw, Poland**

**May 2, 2001**

**15:00**

As planned, her phone vibrated on the desk at 3:00 P.M. She quickly read the text, although she already knew the message. She turned off her computer and left her desk, her coworkers glanced at her, and then looked back down at their own work. She made her way to the bathroom, and checked under each stall quickly. Empty. She proceeded to climb onto the sink counter.

She hadn't been in this line of work for too long, and began to wish that she'd known that business skirts were not ideal for crawling in a ventilation shaft before she, you know, started crawling in the ventilation shaft.

She finds the grate, or at least what she hopes is the right grate (isn't this where the map said to drop?). She pushed her legs through and tried to drop gracefully to the floor. Tried being the operative word. She broke a heel and landed splayed out on the floor, unable to roll away if an enemy spotted her.

The man waiting for her gave a rumbling laugh.

"Sarah, I did tell you to change before getting in the shaft, you remember that part right?" He said, chuckling at her secretary-like appearance.

"But... I... it didn't seem necessarily... prudent, with the time constrains and all and Director Graham said,"

"Screw Graham, we have all the time in the world... for about two more hours," He flashed a smile at her, and she giggled.

Sarah followed Agent Stone out of the room and down an abandoned hallway. She couldn't help but admire his calm, the way he picked a lock without hurried glances or sweaty palms, the confident manner in which he went around every corner with his gun out in front. He is experienced, he is intelligent, and he is teaching her everything he knows.

"Sarah," he pulled her out of her reverie. She looked at him attentively. "It's your turn now," he pointed at the door in front of them, "You'll have to pick that lock and move down the hall. Your thumb print should clear the scanner, thanks to your secretarial work," he gives a short chuckle, "I, of course, will be taking the easy way," he pointed back to the vent. "Race you there?"

And then he was gone, leaving her in the daze of his brilliant gigakigamegawatt smile. Sarah quickly shed the tight pencil skirt and blouse, dressing in the all black get-up Stone had given her before the mission. Her hands were shaking too much to pull up the zipper.

"Get a hold of yourself Walker, this is just another mission."

She took a deep breath, and found that her hands had returned back to this dimension. The suit on, she looked down the corridor... clear enough. After quickly picking the lock, she walked out confidently. If she's learned anything from Stone these past three years, its that confidence is everything.

She knew that this was a test, just like all the others he'd put her through since she agreed to become an agent. After an exemplary year at the farm, he took her under his wing, Saving her from a boring, entry level, desk job.

Her thumb print was a match for the scanner, and she navigated herself further into the building. Suddenly, a guard turned the corner ahead, and spotted her immediately.

"Zatrzymać!" He shouted, reaching for the taser on his belt. She had no other option: She rushed him. Speeding up as she got closer, she kicked her right leg out at the wall, her muscles recoiling and rebounding her left leg into the unfortunate security officer. He crumpled.

She felt a rush of adrenaline overcome her, and quickly looked around, as if seeking approval. Except there was no one there. Stone had left her alone, this wasn't some training op with cameras tracking her every move. In fact, the cameras had been shut down specifically for this mission. No one in the world knew where she was right now.

What an incredible feeling.

She sprinted through the rest of the hallways, leading to the target room. She pushed it open excitedly, only to find Stone already waiting. He smiles, she melts a little. Her heart beating erratically.

"What took you so long?" He asks, and in return she smiles back at him. She gasps, trying to catch her breath, and then takes the time to look around the room.

There's another man standing beside Stone, in equally black mission gear. Except he doesn't seem to smile. The room is mostly empty save for a small computer chip resting on a pedestal.

"Is that it?"

The grumpy man answers, "Yes." in a tone that can only be described as official. He nods to Stone and removes a laptop from the bag slung on his shoulder. He begins to type nonsense on the keyboard, working to remove the security system surrounding the chip. Stone turned to Sarah.

"So, what do you think of your first mission?"

"Honestly?"

"Of course."

"Not much. I thought there would be more..."

"Excitement?"

"Yes, exactly."

"Well, don't worry, it isn't over yet." He gave her a wink. Maybe if she hadn't been some high off her own adrenaline rush, she would have found it cliche to the point of aggravation.

"Okay, I got it," the other man said, and then closed the tiny computer. Stone patted the man on the shoulder, offered a "well done" and then pistol whipped him before Sarah had time to blink.

"Wha-"

"Come on, we don't have much time," Stone said, ignoring what he'd just done. He grabbed the chip and rushed toward Sarah.

"Look what you did!"

"Yes, yes, I know, but we have to hurry. The guards will suspect something when the man you eliminated doesn't check in."

He dragged her by the hand, leading her down a different, much more abandoned, hall then they one she'd come from.

"I didn't _eliminate_ anyone if anything, he will only be out for ten minutes!" She shouted as they ran down the corridor.

"What do you mean? You can't leave any man behind!" He said as he pushed through another set of doors.

"Well apparently it was a good thing! Now we don't have to run!" She stopped. He abruptly turned to face her.

"It's not the _guards_ we have to worry about." He spoke seethingly, as if she should already know this some how.

"Oh, not the guards. Who then, the CIA? Stone, what is going on? Why did you attack that man? Was my cover blown?"

"No, shut up! Look, this chip here," He held out the chip for her to see, "It contains information that will make the CIA much to powerful. I was ordered to retrieve it for purposes so wrong that I couldn't follow them. The CIA is corrupt, Sarah. That man back there was corrupt. You have to believe me, I made a rash decision... but now..." He trailed off, unwilling, she could tell, to state the consequences. Consequences she was all to quickly realizing.

"Now. What. Stone." She spoke through her teeth, unable to believe this... this... _betrayal._

"Now the CIA will know that we are on to them."

"We?"

"You are with me Sarah, I won't let you be led down the path the CIA offers. You're too brilliant."

And suddenly its all better. He didn't betray her, but rather, the CIA did. And she finds that while she hates the CIA for arresting her father and coercing her into being a spy and becoming... evil, its all okay because with Stone...

"We're going to stop them, Sarah. You and me and this chip, right here. Together."

He gives her another blinding smile and they rush together out of the building, into the daylight.

**Secret Ring Facility**

**July 4, 2006**

**13:00**

She shuffled through the papers on the elongated desk in front of her. Reports. More reports. It's all boring and the same to her, but they're Stone's orders. She looked up from the papers to the men sitting in front of her. Men. All day she dealt with men, she was really beginning to dislike them. They never followed her orders, they questioned her incessantly, and they seemed to overuse their preferred brand of hair gel.

The men in front of her represent several different factions of The Ring. They each lead their entity with a specific purpose, provided by the director of The Ring. It's a fancy title, sure, but it's really quite a boring occupation.

"Tommy," she spoke in a crisp tone. The sound of her voice echoed through the empty room.

He stood, obediently. God, she hates this man. He just looks like someone that would double cross you, then stab you slowly with a pen while laughing after failing to convince you it's a triple cross. She may have had a dream about that. She doesn't remember. Maybe she should start keeping a notepad by her bed... No, no, that would seem paranoid. She's not paranoid. Is she?

"Fulcrum's new objective is to find the Intersect Computer. It seems, according to our sources within the CIA and NSA, that the government has successfully completed their own."

"Carl"

He stood next to Tommy. Somedays she found that she almost liked Carl, in a grandfatherly way. His old age and salt and pepper hair made her wish she'd visited her grandparents as a kid. But that always got her thinking about her childhood. And she hated that, so she stopped liking Carl.

"While Fulcrum works on taking the Intersect from the government, Spearhead will function as Plan B. You will lead your agents in the production of our own Intersect Computer. Your two agencies must work together, sharing information that will allow the other to succeed."

She paused, and looked at the group assembled in front of her. She had their full attention, she always seemed to, after her hair grew out and her braces were removed. Eight years later, she had trouble getting men to pay attention to what she said. Sometimes she wishes her looks could be reversed. She would have preferred this attention in high school. Now it's wasted on these sorry excuses for human beings.

"This is not a competition. If one succeeds, you both succeed. The rest of you already have your assignments. If you have turned in your progress report, then you are dismissed."

She waited as the men filtered out of the room, shuffling her papers to seem more... official. As soon as they were gone she slipped down into her chair. Maintaining posture sucks. She kicked off her heals and wrapped her hair up into a messy bun. Reports suck.

As she was scanning a report about Chinese cooperation, she noticed the looming, dark door open and close. She chose not to care, hopefully it's only the janitor. In the back of her mind, she knows it isn't, but she refuses to accept reality. She's too comfortable.

"Well, Ms. Walker, if you were this relaxed during our meetings, I would be much more inclined to... pay attention."

She decided against flailing about as if she could erase this moment. Congratulations, Tommy. You caught me. She rubbed her temples with her forefingers, she placed the report down.

"What do you want Tommy. I'm busy."

He held out a manilla packet for her, smirking. She hates smirkers.

"I have the information you requested."

Well, shit. That's why he's smirking. She totally forgot. She slowly removed her legs from the desk, and let down her hair - shaking her head a bit. She focused her energy on Tommy, and could clearly see the moment her gaze reached the intensity she was hoping for. She may have forgotten about Tommy's little side project, but she could make him forget everything about his own existence. If she wanted to.

"Well, then, give it here."

She averted her attention to the packet in his hands, and he visibly jolted. Scurrying would be the best word to describe his movement to and from her desk.

"It's, uh, an agent close to the project. I think if we turned him..."

"You know how I feel about turning agents."

"I know how Stone feels about turning agents, but..."

"And I feel the same way. We won't be turning a loyal CIA agent."

"Then what am I supposed to do? This man could give us everything we want to know about the Intersect computer. He's highly capable."

"That is your job, not mine Tommy. You are dismissed."

Deciding she wouldn't get any work done sitting at her desk, Sarah carefully gathered the reports, slipped back into her heels, and went home.

**Milan, Italy**

**July 4, 2006**

**19:00**

She notices the slip of paper she usually leaves in her door isn't there, so when she finds Stone in her kitchen, making what only appears to be very very hot water, she isn't surprised. She tosses her briefcase and sits on one of the barstools by the counter.

"So, how was the meeting?" He asks cheerfully.

"What are you doing here Stone."

"I'm making you dinner," he gestures to the stove in front of him. She sighs and runs her fingers across a crease in her forehead. A new crease, she thinks. She tosses him the folder Tommy gave her, thinking that it may lead to a sooner departure.

"What's this?"

"Fulcrum's report. It seems very promising."

He takes a glance at it, and returns to the pot of water, "Let's save the work for after dinner, huh? It's been a long day, I can tell. Go ahead, put your feet up. I'll pour you some wine. Red or White?"

She focuses as much disdain as she can muster into the glare she gives him, but he's paying too much to the micro-bubbles forming in the water to notice. She doesn't want him to serve her the wine she had to pay for. She doesn't want him feeding her in her kitchen. She doesn't want him in her _life_. But that's a separate issue.

"Please, just look at the file. I think we're finally getting somewhere."

He gives her one of those looks. The irritated look that he's given her so many times. It flies over her head, she pays it no attention.

"You were never one for patience Sarah, no matter how often I've tried to teach it to you," he says as he flips through the contents. She can see his eyes quickly scan each page. She does not offer a retort, but simply waits for his opinion on the report; for his orders.

"So, this... Bryce Larkin, he's close to the project?"

"It seems that he has a more... 'human' element that the other agents lack, and that we could exploit this in order to get the information."

Stone laughs at her. Always with the laughing.

"I guess its true, what they say," he says, "about emotions in the CIA."

She hates when he brings the agency up, he always seems to forget that she knows nothing about it, that he stole it from her when she was so young.

"What about the CIA," she sighs.

"About emotions, you mean."

"Sure, yes."

"Simple, Sarah. They'll get you killed."

He pours a box of pasta into the water and she silently goes over the file. Bryce Larkin. He's been in the agency since '02, went to Stanford... not exactly a stellar agent. From the mission reports it seems as if the agency expected him to have potential, but he burned out before he began. It looked easy enough, they wouldn't even need a female agent. Little Bryce just needs a friend. Tommy could handle that on his own.

"So, what great things did Atlas do today?" She asked, trying to steer the conversation in a lighter direction. Stone was always so proud of Atlas.

"Great things, of course," He replied with a smirk. "The care packages were sent to the flood victims today, and I met with the Prime Minister. He was very grateful, of course."

He paused to stir the pot.

"Then, of course, I met with the director of national security on the side. He was interested in my cause, and offered a few of his best agents. I think they're interested in Team Ises, they should be here within a few weeks. As Ring Director, I expect you'll make them feel welcome."

She sighed. None of this was new, of course. Stone had been using Atlas as a front for the past five years. No one wants to arrest a man that is trying to save the world. He played the face of Atlas, charming, confident, likable. She did his dirty work.

"I'll see to it. I'm not sure if Team Ises..."

"They said Ises, you'll put them in Ises," he spoke sharply. Sometimes she forgot that he was her superior, with all the dinner making and the attempts at friendly conversation. It easy to forget what he could _do_.

"I understand."

Dinner was a quite affair, with Stone occasionally trying to start a conversation and Sarah occasionally not responding. When he finished eating, he recognized loss when it stared him in the face.

"I'll be going then."

"Wait, what about Larkin?"

"That's your problem Sarah," he sighed, "Put Tommy on it. Don't turn him, though. Ex-CIA agents are untrustworthy. Don't pressure him, make him think he's on a real mission or something. You're a smart girl, you'll figure it out."

Before heading out the door, he turned hesitantly, so out of character that it immediately grabbed her interest. What ever was coming next... it was something he didn't want her to know.

"This... this computer, Sarah, it's not just a machine. If we steal it from the government, they'll be severely crippled in their power, and we'll be able to use it to stop them forever. You need to be careful with Larkin because... because if he figures us out, he could run away with it," He paused. She wasn't sure where this was going, because well, duh he would run.

"The Intersect is compatible with the human brain Sarah. If Larkin downloads the computer for himself, he'd become the computer. A Human Intersect. He's not expendable," and with that, he closed the door.

She didn't move for awhile after he left. Didn't really see that one coming.


	3. Get Out of Jail Free

A/N: I realize that the time frame skips around A LOT. But its going to all slow down soon. I finally finished finals, so I might have more time to post now, maybe. This update was actually a lot faster than I thought it would be. We will finally have an appearance from Chuck, kind of, in this chapter! Yay! The time frame should be slowing down soon, but I just want to get all this preambly stuff out of the way.

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Get Out of Jail Free

"A thing is not necessarily true because a man dies for it." - Oscar Wilde

**Burbank, California**

**January 13, 2063**

**2:30**

I first heard about 'Sarah Walker' in my General History 102 class at the academy. Of course, everyone already knew who she was, I myself had even heard rumors. She was the CIA's greatest embarrassment, the only truly successful traitor - setting back the espionage business a decade or two.

There was almost a whole chapter dedicated to her. Technically, the chapter was for traitors, but she's the most famous traitor at the academy. I mean, have you ever looked at her? The thing is, though, I never knew her as a traitor. Maybe she started out as one, but it was never her choice.

And after everything she did to change what she'd become, she deserves more than a paragraph listing her... accomplishments. Right?

**Secret Ring Facility**

**June 17, 2007**

**14:00**

"Agent Shaw to see you Director."

"Thank you Annie, can you please get me the Ises Report on Nicaragua? I need to see if they've agreed to our terms."

"Uh, yes, the report about... our gun running cartel?"

"Yes, please, now send Shaw in."

The minute it took Annie's heels to clack down the hallway made Sarah regret having such a long hallway. It's really just inconvenient. After Annie exited, it took Agent Shaw another minute to walk back up the hall.

"Director," Shaw said, head slightly bowed.

Sarah shuffled some papers on her desk, one of them might be important. She really didn't feel like having this conversation right now, she liked Shaw, but some things had to be done, "I've received some information from one of our moles in the CIA."

"Have I been compromised?" Shaw asked hastily, "Give me a new cover, I can go deeper, anything you need. Trust me, I can do it!"

"The thing is, Shaw, I can't," Sarah spoke firmly, and watched as the realization dawned on the agent's face. Sarah felt a pang of empathy as Shaw looked around the room frantically, judging escape routes. Sarah remained calm, if needed she had a Smith & Wesson already in hand.

"The mole met a very interesting person at the agency, Shaw. Your husband, Agent Daniel Shaw. We didn't want to jump to conclusions, but, ah," Sarah shuffled some more papers, "We found that you've been leaking key intel on the entire Ring operation to the CIA, and we can't have that."

"No, no, Director, please. I had to! I swear, please... no," she pleaded, but her voice faded as her position dawned on her.

Sarah stood up, Smith & Wesson still in hand, "Goodbye Evelyn."

She sat back down, smoking gun laid to rest. She waited for her guards to remove the body before returning to her paperwork. Annie stumbled around the body on her way to the desk, dropped off the files, and fled. Before she immersed herself in the report, Sarah allowed herself to find it kind of sad that she still had the ability to scare her assistant. It was nice to dust off her trigger finger every once and a while.

**Secret Ring Facility**

**June 17, 2007**

**19:00**

Sarah was almost finished writing a summary of the Team Ises report for Stone when Tommy burst through the doors, uninvited. Annie quickly came chasing after him, and Sarah smirked.

"Director, I'm so sorry, I tried to stop him! He just barged through..."

"Annie, it's fine. You can leave us."

Annie bowed her head before clacking out of the room.

"What is it Tommy, I'm kinda in the"

"Larkin is in." Tommy interrupted. Normally Sarah doesn't tolerate rudeness out of her workers, but she let it slide as the good news washed over her. It was time for something to go right today.

"Is that all?" She asked, curtly.

"He's in, but I think he knows."

"Well, shit," she mutters, under her breath. Of course he knows. Is everyone a goddamned traitor? Or... loyal? Goddamn Bryce Larkin.

"I was certain he was going to refuse our little 'mission,' but he changed his mind quickly. This afternoon. He called me and said he was in. It's possible he's going to double-cross us. The CIA could have put him up to this."

Of course the CIA put him up to this. Sarah let out a heavy sigh. Couldn't he see? Why was it that she was the _only_ thinking person in the Ring? Daniel Shaw probably found out that his wife was dead, and went on a Ring destroying rampage in the CIA home offices. To pacify him, the Director probably promised that they would send in another undercover: Bryce Larkin. But she wasn't going to tell Tommy any of this.

"He won't cross us. The CIA knows nothing about us, unless you've spilled the beans..." She let that hang there for a second, so that the minute this failed, Tommy knew that she would be gunning for him. Then she continued, "Larkin is our only chance at the Intersect. Even if he does cross us, we can't let him go."

"So, what, should I take him in now? Keep him in a holding cell until he can get us the Intersect?"

"Tommy. How would he get us the Intersect if he was in a cell?

"He, uh... could use... his... contacts..."

Her head hit the table with an unceremonious dull thump. Yes, Tommy was menacing. Yes, he was an expert in several forms of martial arts and was accurate with a long-range rifle. Yes, he could follow orders well, and he had just the right amount of disregard for human life to run a faction of a criminal organization. But was he long for this world?

As much as she hated to admit it, she needed Tommy. She needed someone to control the Fulcrum goons with an iron fist. She needed him alive, but if he kept in close contact with Larkin, the CIA will eventually have him killed, if not by Larkin himself.

She lifted her head, and saw Tommy fidgeting. She didn't loose her cool like this often, and she didn't plan on it happening again. She was tired of this tedious desk job, tired of dealing with Tommy.

"I'm going to handle the operation."

"Wha-, What?" Tommy sputtered.

She gave him a stern look. She didn't tolerate impoliteness.

"I apologize, Director, I thought I misheard you," He recovered. Poorly.

"Keep in contact with Larkin, and when he gives you the date for the extraction of the computer, let me know. I'll be taking over the operation from there."

"But, you're the _Director_."

"I'm well aware of my position, Tommy. I can only hope that you remember yours," and with a wave of her hand, she dismissed him. And then she a had the fleeting thought that this could be fun.

**Milan, Italy**

**August 21, 2007**

**15:00**

Before sitting down for a video conference with Stone, Sarah checked her Fulcrum phone. Still nothing. It's been over two months, and she's heard almost nothing from Tommy. He'd reported that Larkin was on a mission in Iran in July, but never said if he made it through or not. She assumed that the mission was still on hold, until whenever Larkin returned state-side.

Stone suddenly appeared on the screen in front of her, and without introduction, he began his tirade:

"What the hell are you thinking, Sarah? I'm out here in the God-forsaken jungles of Africa trying to get _your _Ises team a new customer, and I hear that _you're_ the one who's goddamn recruiting Bryce Larkin!"

She resists the urge to facepalm. Its not that she's purposely avoided telling Stone about her new plan for the Intersect retrieval project... it just hasn't come up. With Ises trying to merge with some up-and-coming weapons dealer, and the CIA closing in on Deimos, she's had a little bit too much on her plate.

"I'm not recruiting him, Stone. You've taught me better than that," She earns a smile, "My current plan is to take over Tommy's operation personally as soon as it is time for the grab. I don't trust Tommy enough for him to handle this."

"You are the Director, Sarah. There is a reason I gave you this job," Stone hissed, "You aren't supposed to be on the front lines. It's too dangerous, and I can't lose you. You are the only one with the brains for this job!"

"That's nice, Stone, it really is, but if that's true, than I'm the only with the brains for the Intersect job. This computer is what we need to beat the CIA, once and for all! To avenge your wife, to avenge my father. This is what I signed up for when I followed you out of that building!"

"Sarah, you never even finished your training!" He protested, his voice at a strained whisper. She noticed that he was in an open area - probably aiding tribal war victims.

"That's not my fault! And, you've said so yourself, I'm better than most trained field agents you've seen. I trained with Reem for four years!"

"You never even finished that training, Sarah, don't do this. I'm ordering you not to do this."

"Give me Reem's number."

"What?"

"Give me her number. I'll finish my training, I'll hit the shooting range, I'll work on my situational awareness... Look, Stone, I have the highest scores on tactical awareness in the Ring. I'm constantly beating our best agents sparring in the gym, I'm not worried about my training. I'm doing this, and I don't think you can stop me from Africa... or at least not in any non-lethal way."

He glared at her for a good few seconds before cutting the connection. A minute later, her fax machine whirred, spitting out a sheet of paper with a phone number on it. Sarah grinned, ear to ear. She hadn't been this excited since she first met her mentor, all those years ago.

She kinda liked how the idea of seeing Reem again made her heart rise in her chest. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but she had an inkling that it might be one of those good ones.

**Undisclosed Ring Training Facility, United States**

**September 3, 2007**

**12:00**

"Come on Sarah, one more time, and than you can by me lunch!"

Sarah grunted her consent. She pocketed her favorite knife and closed her eyes.

Her heartbeat resounded in the veins of her ears, she felt the blood course to her fingertips. Her pulse quickened. Fear gripped her nerves, she struggled to push it beyond her thoughts. She could feel the slight pressure of the blade in her pocket, pressing against the hard muscle in her thigh. The floorboard, approximately two feet southwest, succumbed to the pressure of a foot, and because it has either seen too many feet in its life time, or was improperly placed, it groaned beneath the weight.

She moved quickly, too quickly for the attacker to react. Her balled fist sunk into the flesh of the attacker's stomach, near what she hoped was the kidney. As her left arm recoiled, she used her right leg to lash out behind her, another impact. Floorboards are creaking everywhere now. She hears the click of a safety behind her. She spins out, kicking an attacker in front of her beneath the jawline, and lands, facing the gun.

She reaches out, hoping that she's properly assumed the height of her assailant. She feels the smooth metal of the muzzle, and jerks upward. The motion of the gun twists the assailant's wrists. She thinks one of them cracks. Holding the weapon now, she pistol whips the attacker, only to have the gun pushed out of her hands as soon as she hears the body hit the floor. Her fist explodes outward, she grunts in pain as the skin taughtly drawn across her knuckles bursts against the attackers face. As the attacker falls, she reaches out to grab his arm. She pulls what she now believes to be a man (he's pushing 150) to his feet. She holds his neck in the crook of her elbow, her other hand holding the blade of her knife across his neck.

She opens her eyes.

Over the man's shoulder, she sees Reem smiling at her. Another man and woman lay on the ground, giving exaggerated groans despite their small grins. Reem flicked her head toward the door, and Sarah felt her stomach rumble. Lunch time, finally. She jogged across the room to catch up to Reem, pocketing the knife along the way.

"You know, Sarah, you were allowed to open your eyes," Reem spoke.

Sarah gave a small smile, "I know."

They ate at a small cafe, Sarah ordered a sandwich. Reem had soup. They made an odd pairing: Sarah was dressed in a skin-tight tank-top, underneath a jacket she'd thrown on on her way out of the gym matched with equally tight calf-length athletic pants. Reem wore a business suit, her dark hair was set perfectly on her frame, not a strand out of place. Neither seemed to mind.

As they ate their food, they discussed "work".

"You know, you really let yourself go without me," Reem teased.

"Me? Look at yourself! Tell me you haven't put on a few pounds!"

"Honey, I'm half way through 40, I'm allowed to let myself go. There becomes a point where it just isn't worth it anymore. You, however, have no excuses!"

"Well, I guess that's why I gave you a call. It's only been a week, and look where you've got me."

Reem huffed her disbelief, "Look, Sarah, I didn't get you anywhere. I was just teasing, you know that. You really didn't need me, you're well trained."

"Stone doesn't seem to think so."

"Stone ordered this?"

"He's the one who gave me your number."

Reed put down her spoon before speaking carefully, "Sarah, why are you still with him?"

"What are you talking about?" Sarah tried to look into her mentor's eyes, tried to see what exactly she was playing at.

"You shouldn't be taking orders from that man, Sarah! He's the reason I had to leave you in the first place. If he's even hesitant to keep us in contact with each other, what does that say about him?"

"He's a good man, but he's scarred. I am too," Sarah spoke forcefully. A rock was forming in her stomach, what was going on?

"Sarah, you know I love you right? You're like that daughter I've never had. You're brilliant, you're daring, and you're _strong_. I haven't seen you in almost four years, but the second you walked into that gym, I could tell that you've become weaker."

"Reem... I'm the _same_ person. Just because I work," Sarah started, but Reem cut her off in a harsh whisper, in case anyone was listening in.

"You work for the deadliest organization in the world Sarah. Don't think I don't know that. I'm here helping you because I knew you when you had dreams, when you believed in the good of people. I'm here because I want to see that girl again!"

"Then why are you training me for my own mission!"

"Because I"m selfish! Because I just wanted to see you! I want to convince you to leave Stone!"

"When you left me, Stone stayed. I may be deadly, but I'm doing it to help the world. We are an evil fighting evil. I'm not stupid. We are necessary to stop the corruption, the lies. The U.S. government is the one true evil in this world. I work to achieve Stone's goals, goals that I wholeheartedly believe in."

Reem shook her head and stood up. She threw a few bills on the table and gathered her purse.

"Sarah, I didn't come here to fight you. I came here so that I wouldn't have regrets if you...if something happened to you. But I need you to hear these words, I need you be _aware_ of this idea: Stone is out to destroy the company that accidentally killed his wife. That is _all_. He is going to do anything to weaken them, whether it's through this special thing you have to steal, or by taking away the most promising agent they've seen in decades. He doesn't do this for mankind, he doesn't do this for you. Everything he does is for himself."

"You're wrong about him Reem."

But she was gone. Sarah walked back to her apartment. Now that the training montage was done, it was high time to book a flight to D.C.. She checked the Fulcrum phone, and she jolted when she saw that there was one new text message. It read: Sept. 30.

Time to find her stakeout gear.

**Intersect Laboratories**

**September 27, 2007**

**22:00**

She was halfway through her bag of M&M's when the alarms started going off inside the building. She almost laughed. It was so much fun to be right! Tommy had sworn that Bryce Larkin had reported that he would steal the Intersect on September 30, of this year. She made an internal bet that he would do it a few days before, on orders from the director of the CIA.

She'd put her time with Reem behind her, throwing herself completely into her work. If she found the Intersect, than the Ring would be immeasurably closer to taking over the CIA. Maybe even the FBI or NSA. For now, she had to focus.

She climbed out of the Porsche she'd rented for the time being, and made her way to the courtyard of the building. Shouting erupted on the roof, the sounds of walkie-talkies echoed throughout the building complex. A couple silenced shots popped off windows and cement.

She saw Larkin bound from rooftop to rooftop, the NSA's finest foolishly chasing after him. If they knew any better, they'd have a ground unit waiting... The thought made her check her surroundings. She was right. A dark figure was in the shadows across the lot. Too far away for a decent shot.

Sarah quickly made her away around the lot, making sure to stay in the shadows. She heard the NSA guards shouting after Larkin, practically begging him to stop. She heard a cry of pain and assumed one of the guards finally bit it. Amateurs.

She made it to the dark figure, who immediately turned as soon as she was within range. However, she already had her gun out, and he was busy with his radio.

"What the," he grunted, before the quick thwip of the tranquilizer. Then the gun clicked. Empty. Guess she would have to use the live ones for Larkin.

Suddenly, a figure fell from the sky. His bright white shirt contrasted against the dark lot, and she could clearly see the blood stains on his shirt. Probably from a head wound, those bleed like stink.

She saw him furiously pounding into his phone. Oh, God, he was going to send it. She rapidly fired two shots off. The first one missed.

The second one didn't.

Larkin twisted in pain and fell to the ground, a new hole in his shoulder. She ran over, for no pre-planned reason. She kicked the phone away from his hands as the message on the screen fizzled away.

Message Sent To... Chuck.

Before she had anytime to question who "Chuck" was, Larkin let out a groan. Thankfully, his eyes were still closed.

"You're too late..." He moaned. His breathing was shallow and Sarah assumed he didn't have much time left. She didn't really want to deal with it, but she would have to take care of his body in about ten minutes.

And then she remembered Stone's warning. This man could _be_ the computer. She whipped out her phone, trying to compress his shoulder with her hand simultaneously.

"Annie! I need Tommy and a Fulcrum medical team on my location within the next two minutes, or all of our work is for nothing!"

She terminated the call, giving Annie no chance to confirm the message. She almost immediately regretted her overly dramatic tone, but well, if anything, this is the time for dramatics. If Annie got it, she got it. If she didn't... Sarah would have to find a new assistant. And possibly start a personal job hunt She crushed the phone under her boot, that call could have been easily traced by the NSA. Then she noticed the blood on her hands. Literally.

She wish she knew if field work ever went right, but truthfully, despite her reputation, she didn't have all that much experience.

She walked away from the scene, wondering where the nearest sink was. She heard the faint siren of the Fulcrum ambulance, hopefully with Tommy inside, approach the scene. She didn't wait for them to load Bryce Larkin into the back. Everything was going to change now, and truthfully, she was looking forward to it. Perhaps it was time for her life behind the desk to come to an end.

She removed the tracking device in her shoe, no longer needing the comfort of backup, and wondered where she could find a sink. The caked blood was drying out her hands. She looks to the sky; the moon is bright, a new day is on the horizon, and, for the first time in six years, no one in the entire world knows where she is.

What an incredible feeling.


	4. Lift Off

A/N: This may be a short, fillerish, chapter, but its necessary to lead into the eventful events of next chapter! I realize I may not have the largest readership out there, but I would like to mention that I really appreciate everyone that is leaving reviews, especially those who critique. Tell me what I'm doing right! But even more so, tell me what I'm doing wrong! Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck. =/

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Lift Off

"Time is the longest distance between two places" - Tennessee Williams

**Secret Ring Facility, United States**

**September 28, 2007**

**6:00**

She hasn't had time to sleep yet. Sure, last night she took a hour or so to relish in her first solitary victory, but then her phone wouldn't stop ringing, and the blood on her hands washed away.

People ran in and out of her temporary office, shouting names, listing off statistics. Larkin was alive, Larkin was dead. Truthfully, she was tired of hearing it. She wished everyone would sit down and wait for the results to be conclusive. She just needed to know if he had goddamn computer in his head. If he was living, then that was just a bonus.

She decides to grab a cup of coffee on her way to 'visit' Bryce Larkin. They're operating on him in an interrogation room. Kill two birds with one stone. Holding the warm mug in her hands, she tries to find a doctor with enough confidence to know what the hell is going on. She didn't have much time to look, a swarm of men in white coats surrounded her the minute she entered the observation room.

"Director! I did everything..."

"It's a mess, a bloody mess!"

"It'd be a miracle if"

"Blood pressure dropped"

"Within minutes he was"

She held up her hand, silencing them.

"Why are you all in here, trying to get your excuses right, when you should be in there," she said, pointing to the interrogation room, "Trying to save his life?"

They all scurried away, like little kids scolded by their parents. She grabbed the sleeve of one, randomly, and held him in the room.

"What is your name?" She asked.

"Dr. Arkwright," he answered nervously. He kept pushing his long bangs away from his eyes, which were furiously flashing around the room. She didn't want him to be nervous, she wanted him to be calm enough to save a life. She let out a sigh.

"What are his chances?"

"Uh, Agent Larkin's chances? Uh, well we stabilized him for now, I, uh, think. But he lost a lot of blood. Yeah, a lot of blood. I think now that we have enough donor blood, we can make the transfusion... yeah... I'm pretty sure he's going to make it."

"What about the Intersect?"

"He, uh, came in and out of consciousness a few times, saying that word. We, um, asked him if he had it. He said... he said, uh, yes. Yes. So after we're certain he'll, um, live through the night, we can start testing for Intersect functionality."

"Fine. Good. I'm relieving you from duty, Dr. Arkwright. Go home, have a drink, and report back in tomorrow. Just... calm down."

The unfortunate doctor practically sprinted out of the interrogation area. Sarah looked down into her mug of coffee, and decided it just wasn't enough. She headed to her office for a nap.

**Secret Ring Facility, United States**

**September 28, 2007**

**8:00**

Her nap was abruptly ended by her phone. Ringing. What she likes to think are her agent instincts had her out of her chair and answering before the second ring.

Bryce Larkin was awake.

She quickly checked the mirror, hoping that whatever image presented itself would be appropriate for an interrogation. Eh.

She fixed her makeup, ran her fingers through her hair, and made for the interrogation room.

The scene had changed since the two hours that she left it. The lights were dimmed, and there were significantly less doctors milling about. Bryce Larkin's eyes were open, and staring right at her.

Of course, he couldn't see her. She was behind the one-way glass. But he knew she was there. He was an agent, he was trained to go through everything she was supposed to put him through. But she wasn't made the director of the Ring for nothing. She may not have much field experience, she doesn't hold any records, and isn't even wanted by the CIA.

But that's only because she's flawless at what she does.

She looked over his information in a file provided by the Fulcrum techs. It confirmed most of what she already knew. Age, height, weight, DOB, hometown, agency affiliation, etc. She read on, focusing on the details of an Operation Sandstorm. She was almost a little too glad to be proven right, Larkin never had any intention of stealing the Intersect. The last line of the report caught her attention. Last known activity: Sent e-mail to Charles Irving Bartowski. Burbank, CA. , 18:00 PST.

She entered the room slowly, allowing Larkin to size her up, to let him think he had some sort of advantage. She was dressed in a loose cardigan, opened to reveal a plain white shirt underneath. She'd changed into jeans for casual comfort, and was wearing her favorite boots. If anything, she looked ready to see a movie or eat a casual lunch. Not to torture a man for information. She stood in front of him, unmoving. He wasn't intimidated, but she knew that no matter what she wore, he wouldn't be. So at least this was a little off-putting. She waited for him to speak, wanting him to get all his questions out of the way. She was never one for the corny, "I'll be asking the questions here," line.

"Who are you?"

"I'm you're personal interrogator," she answered. Clean. Crisp. Annoyingly vague. But he was better than that, he knew not to lose his temper early on.

"Where's Tommy? I though I'd be dealing with him."

"I think he went for coffee."

"Who do you work for?"

"Who do you think?"

He glared at her, but remained silent.

"O.k., my turn now," she said, and then proceeded to lay a photograph on the table next to his gurney. He was strapped down, but was still able to move his head enough to see the photograph.

He didn't have much of a reaction to the picture, but she had studied him well enough the past months to recognize the signs. His hands twitched, as if he considered clenching them into fists. His jaw tightened. But he didn't look away too quickly, he only considered it. He looked for the proper amount of time to convey disinterest.

"Do you know who that is?"

"What do you think?"

"You're going to answer my question."

"You didn't answer mine."

"Touche." Sarah circled him, smoothly taking the photo with her on her way back. She noticed the lines form on his brow. He wanted the picture.

"This picture," she waved it carelessly, "Is of one Charles Irving Bartowski. Born in Encino, September 27, 1980. Brother to Eleanor Faye Bartowski. Currently resides in Burbank, California. Attended Stanford, but left a few credits short of graduating."

Bryce no longer tried to hide anything. His fists were balled, he was pushing against his restraints.

"He was your roommate in college, Bryce."

He continued to remain silent, but, man, if looks could kill...

"Charles Irving Bartowski received an e-mail from you yesterday, Bryce. What was in that e-mail?"

"I was wishing him a happy birthday," he spat.

"Hmm, I see," She lapped him again, this time leaving a different picture.

"Who's this, Bryce?"

"That would be my mother."

"Correct," Sarah smiled at him, "We called her up the other day, and turns out she hasn't heard from you since your college graduation. She thinks your dead."

"I had no choice. I didn't want her to worry about me."

"The CIA forced you to abandon your family."

"I didn't say I worked..."

"That wasn't a question Bryce. I know you work for the CIA, I know about Operation Sandstorm. I know about Tommy, Bryce. I know about Fulcrum."

"Who _are_ you?"

"I know that three days ago you attempted to steal a computer known only as the Intersect. I know that you were ordered to do this by your CIA superiors, presumably Director Arthur Graham. I know that you were going to spin a story to Tommy, your Fulcrum contact, that the CIA caught you, and that you could no longer steal the computer. I know that you were going to take it to a more secure location. And lastly, I know that while stealing it you were shot trying to send the computer to the safest place you could think of," she leaned in close to Bryce, her final words almost a whisper, "So, Bryce Larkin, what I don't know, is: Did you, in the course of all these events, upload the Intersect to yourself?"

"That's not possible," he breathed. She was tantalizingly close, her warm body hovering just above his. He was only a man, and she was, he was suddenly realizing, a truly beautiful woman. Trying to torture him. He couldn't help but admire this method.

"Bryce, I know that it's possible. I've seen the test results. The Intersect is designed to be uploaded into a human being. Now. Did you, or did you not, upload the computer into your own mind?"

He hesitated before answering. "I did."

"Ooh, Bryce. Tsk Tsk! See, when I had a talk with your mother, she told me so much about you... She told us how she missed your charm and your polite manner. She missed your bright blue eyes and your love for track. She told us that somedays she even missed your funny little lies, and how you had the most _obvious_ tell," Sarah stepped away from him. He would have breathed a sigh of relief, if he wasn't already holding his breath for another reason.

"You try so hard to look like you're telling the truth that you've taught yourself to stare at someone's mouth, instead of their eyes. And guess what Bryce," she paused for dramatic effect, "You were just staring at my mouth, quite intently."

Bryce remained silent. He closed his eyes, recognizing defeat. This wasn't torture, he wasn't even sure if it was an interrogation anymore.

"What do you want?"

"I want to know where the Intersect is Bryce. I want to know if you're willing to give up your friend for your safety."

"If you already know where it is, why are you asking me?"

"Like I just said, I want to know if you could become one of us."

"One of _you_? Look at yourself! You don't even know who you are! I am loyal to my country because I want to protect my friends. If Fulcrum wants to destroy our country, then they're threatening what is most important to me. There is no way I would ever agree to be a part of that."

Sarah nodded, believing what he said. She could get behind that. If she thought that someone was going to hurt her friends and family, she wouldn't want to help them either. But his beliefs were skewed. Fulcrum _wanted_ to help, not harm. Maybe with time, he would learn to see that.

"Then I guess I will be seeing you around, Agent Larkin," She waved to the glass, signaling the guards to come and lead Bryce away, "But first, I have to pay a visit to your good friend, Charles."

The guards, thankfully, were strong enough to contain Bryce as he struggled against them, begging Sarah to leave his friend alone, but she was already gone. She needed to buy some plane tickets... and get some authorization from Stone.

**Atlas Headquarters, Milan, Italy**

**September 29, 2007**

**2:00**

Following a rather uncomfortable nine hour flight, Sarah stood outside of Stone's office, waiting for his secretary to let her in. She felt bad for the poor girl, but was also grateful that Stone was a workaholic.

"Mr. Stone will see you now," the tired secretary announced.

Sarah walked purposefully into Stone's office. Every movement had a reason, every motion was calculated. She was playing this conversation like it was a science, everything had to go perfectly.

"Sarah!" Stone greeted, cheerfully, "What brings you here at this late hour?"

"It's only six in Washington."

"Oh, I see, did you operation go well? Did you... acquire.. the computer?"

Sarah let out a sigh, this was the tricky part, "Not quite. I've determined that Bryce Larkin was not working for Tommy, and was only acting under the orders of his CIA superiors."

"Even though they've betrayed him so many times?" Stone interrupted, she noticed _that_ look on his face, "They stole him from his family! They've corrupted him into a machine, killing anything that stands in his master's way! Now that he's seen the light, he continues to turn his back on us?"

"I, uh, don't think he's seen the light yet, Sir."

"Don't call me sir, Sarah. You've known me too long."

"Yes, Stone. As I was saying, Larkin e-mailed all of the data on the computer to a man living in California," she paused, "I would like to personally track him down."

"But what about the computer?"

"Larkin destroyed it as soon as he downloaded the files."

"Are you sure he didn't... upload them into," Stone gestured to his forehead. Sarah presumed that he didn't want anyone overhearing their conversation, not even his precious secretary.

"In... questioning... it was revealed that he did not, but we're still going to run tests."

"So, you want to go to... California?"

"Yes, around L.A., to be precise. I would have to go undercover."

"Sarah..."

"Stone, look, I know you don't want me to do this, and I appreciate that. I really do. I love the way you care for my safety, but this is the best chance the Ring has, that you have! I'm practically your only agent that is unknown by the CIA, if I go undercover and recover the Inter... the computer then..." She let her sentence trail off. She stood leaning over his desk, letting whatever suggestion she just made hang in the air.

She wasn't oblivious. She knew what Stone wanted, what he's always wanted. Despite what she'd done to forget her short time with Reem, the words were still coming back to haunt her:

Everything he does is for himself.

"Then we will have finally won," Stone concluded, his green eyes infinitely darker. He was overcome with a lust for power, a lust he often misunderstood.

"I'll leave right away."

Stone merely nodded, and Sarah raced out of the room. If she was right about the time, then it would still only be eight in the morning by the time she reached LAX. After fifteen hours in the air. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

Was that not enough for you? Stick around for next chapter! Why? Chuck Bartowski. Finally.


	5. The Nerd in the Store with the Smile, or

Author's Note: Cheers for another chapter! It was asked if the time's were congruent with time zone's Sarah is currently in. They are. I didn't feel particularly inclined to research the initials for the European time zones, but I did research the time differences. So yes, she is experiencing time zone changes. And, um, enjoy! Please please review! It is proven that reviewers are ten times more likely to eat cookies than non-reviewers! You will probably run into a cookie if you review! Not that I'm begging or anything, cause that would be annoying, right?

Disclaimer: I don't own Chuck. I'm earning exactly $0 from this endeavor. Unless you are an economist. In that case, I am probably losing money by not doing anything that would actually earn me money.

* * *

The Nerd in the Store with the Smile, or, um... Computer

"The thing that lies at the foundation of positive change, the way I see it, is service to a fellow human being." - Lee Iacocca

**Burbank, California**

**January 13, 2063**

**14:00**

This story is about Sarah Walker, don't get me wrong. I'm trying to clear her name, trying to give her the credit she deserves, but you have to keep in mind that Chuck Bartowski plays a very large element of her story.

He's the catalyst, if you will.

So sure, the beginning is over. You've seen her, you've seen what everyone today still thinks she is. She was cold, she was firm, she was deadly. She was almost single handedly working towards the destruction of the Central Intelligence Agency. But she had a lot of doubt, she had insecurities. She was a girl with a past, a past that was leading her down the wrong road.

Now it's time for the second the beginning. Time for Sarah Walker to become anew. Time for her be ignited by the catalyst himself: Charles Irving Bartowski. Or as some affectionately call him, Chuck.

**Buy-More Plaza**

**Burbank, California**

**September 29, 2007**

**15:00**

According to the information provided by the ever-helpful Annie, Charles Bartowski's shift at the Burbank location of the Buy-More chain ended ten minutes ago. He still hasn't left the store. She slouched down in the seat of her Porsche, a car not known for its spacious interior. She kept telling herself that this was normal, missions were 99% waiting...

Oh, never mind, there he is.

He's easy to spot, his lanky build stands out easily against that of the much shorter man by his side. She read his profile, and knew to expect his almost gangly appearance. He walked with a confidence that she didn't expect, however. Maybe she expected him to already know that she was after him, that the entire U.S. government was after what was in his computer.

But then his semi-confident smile stopped, and his bearded little friend gave him a shocked look. Not shock out of fear... shock from... surprise? A large man approached Chuck, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, and dragged him back into the store. His friend gave a wave, grabbed a bike, and began to peddle away.

What. The. Hell.

She got out of the car, slamming the door probably harder than necessary. She didn't exactly know what she was going to do once inside the store, just that she was going inside.

The burst of cool, conditioned, air was an unexpected surprise. She hadn't realized hot it had been in the black leather interior of her car on this warm September day. She looked around the store, but didn't see her target immediately. She did, however, see two repulsive looking men manning what looked like a help desk.

She quickly searched her purse, finding her phone. She considered damaging it some way, but Stone would kill her if she did. He was particularly proud of his phone design. Since she didn't know how to work it anyway, she figured that would be her best approach.

She slowly walked up to the counter, using the opportunity to look for Charles Bartowski, or at least the large man that had dragged him back into the store. She two men at the counter were growing more repulsive every step she took.

The one had almost clown-like hair growing out the sides of his head. It looked like it needed a good wash - along with the rest of the man. The other's greasy black hair needed the same treatment.

Greeted with the faint smell of alcohol and much stronger smell of body oder, she smiled the best she could at the two of them, who were too busy discussing... something... to pay her any attention.

"Your mother!"

"No, no, definitely Portia de Rossi!"

"Miranda Lawson"

"She's a blonde, Jeffrey, you idiot."

"Vicky Vale?"

"Portia! Jefferson! Portia!"

Sarah cleared her throat, causing much more commotion that she initially expected, which is actually saying quite a bit.

The curly headed, beer scented, man immediately ducked under the desk, while the other smoothed his eyebrows. He gave her what she assumed was supposed to be a seductive, come-hither, look.

"Why, hello there," the greasy man said, moving his eyebrows up and down. His mouth was puckered in what looked like a painful position.

"Um, hi."

"How would you like to service me today?"

"Excuse me?"

The other man suddenly appeared again, she would say he looked frazzled if he hadn't looked the same way before.

"I have a waterbed," he slurred.

"Jeffrey!"

"It's filled with beer."

"Jeff, what have I told you about the waterbed?"

Sarah watched as the two men became absorbed in an argument over the mentioned waterbed. She took the chance to not so subtly search for Charles Bartowski again. He was nowhere to be seen.

"Excuse me, but can you tell me where I can find Charles Bartowski?"

They stopped their bickering, again, and turned to her, again. The pattern repeated. From underneath the desk she heard:

"I need to get my hands on whatever it is he's putting in their water!"

The greasy man, whilst licking his fingers (seductively?), said, "What could you do for Chuck that you couldn't do for me?"

He used his now moistened fingers to smooth his eyebrows, again. She let out a sigh, and put her phone on the counter.

"I don't know how to use this. Someone I know... uh, recommended Charles Bartowski to me."

"Chuck? Please. Jefferson and I," The other man, who she assumed was Jefferson, or Jeffrey, appeared again, "Are what you might call," he grunted, she assumed he was trying to make his voice lower, "_le experts_."

The man who's name tag read Jeff picked up her phone and looked at it quizzically.

"I donnknow man, this phone is off the hook," he mumbled, maneuvering the phone in his clumsy hands.

The smaller, she was still trying to decipher between male or female, person shrieked.

"What the hell is that! Jeffrey! Drop it!"

Jeff consequently dropped the phone into the greasy man's hands, who then let out another screech and flung the phone in Sarah's direction. She caught it, thankfully, and tried to restrain the inner human being inside from beating the numbskulls standing in front of her. With the phone.

"Please. Tell me where I can find Charles Bartowski." She was exasperated.

They both began speaking at the same time. Again.

"Now, see, Jefferson, this is what I meant with the name thing. Chuck gets all the hot babes because he lets them call him his _adult_ name."

"Chuck. Chuuuck. She wants to talk to you Chuck."

"But noooo, you insist on using your stripper name at Benny's. How are we ever going to get some action? Jeffrey? Are you listening to me?"

"Chuck. Over here Chuck."

"Nobody wants to hook up with someone that goes by Rocky Trouser-Snake! Its just not _natural_!"

Sarah froze in shock, unable to comprehend that the two people in front of her somehow found a way to function in society. As Jeff called out for her mark in a low, monotone voice, the other was reaching the level of hysteria with his pointless argument.

She practically sprinted to the back of the store when she saw Charles Bartowski walk out of the designated as the Home Theater Room.

She stood casually by a wall filled with televisions, which, if you ask her, is a complete waste of resources. She'd seen the poor countries that Stone worked in, she'd even worked with him in a few, and she knew that they would benefit from the money wasted on the energy required to run this store.

Her straying thoughts were abandoned when she noticed the door to the Home Theater Room push open just before it closed completely. The man that had taken the mark into the store walked out. He wore the Buy-More green polo and a blank expression; similar to the one he had on the first night she'd seen him.

Just two days ago.

She dropped to her knees and literally crawled to the nearest aisle.

Just two days ago Bryce Larkin, now in custody of Fulcrum, stole the Intersect. Just two days ago, she'd shot Bryce Larkin in the midst of his heist. Just two days ago, she subdued a faceless NSA Agent, waiting to grab Larkin before her.

Suddenly, this Agent had a face, and it was not ten feet away from her. Which means the NSA has already found Bartowski. She doesn't even know where to begin...

"Charles! Over here!"

Black pants soon filled her vision. She looked up to see the greasy man standing in front of her. Pointing and waving. At the mark.

"You can pay me back later sweetheart," he whispered. She doesn't think she's ever actually wanted to kill someone so badly in her life.

The greasy man, Lester - if the name tag is to be trusted, shuffled out of her view. He was quickly replaced by Charles Bartowski.

And good Lord, was he better looking in person.

"Uh, hi. I'm Chuck. Lester told me that you're looking for some assistance concerning your, and I'm just paraphrasing here, 'phone from hell'."

"You're Charles Bartowski?"

"Um, yeah, but everyone just calls me Chuck," he spoke rapidly, "You, ah, you can call me Chuck, too, if you like. I mean, if you prefer Charles I'm not going to stop you, but I respond to Chuck must faster,"

"Ok, Chuck it is," She cut him off, worried that he would talk himself into a heart attack.

"So, uh, can I see your phone, ma'am?"

"Sarah. I'm don't think I'm old enough to be considered a 'ma'am'."

"Oh, of course! I didn't mean anything by it, of course you're young. And beautiful. Or just young, yes, young. I wasn't trying to be forward or anything."

"Chuck! Here," She handed him the phone, "I was just wondering if you could teach me how to use it."

He took the phone, and unlike his coworkers, didn't seem to have much trouble with it. At first, she was afraid he was going to hurl it at the wall. His eyelids flashed rapidly and he seemed to let out an uncontrolled moan. He quickly recovered, however, and didn't share his initial reaction. He turned the phone on after fiddling with a few buttons, and then found his way to an empty address book before looking back up at her.

"Where did you get this phone?

"Um, a friend gave it to me."

He gave her a half-smile, which worried her, for some inexplicable reason.

"Where did your friend get it?"

At some point between handing him the phone and this moment right now, things changed. He was still nervous, but now in a more serious manner. His smile was still there, except it just wasn't _real_. Not that she knew him long enough to distinguish real from non-real smiles, but she always had a thing for these gut-feelings.

He was looking around the store as if he didn't want her to notice. So she did, of course. She noticed the NSA agent give Chuck a nod. When he began to walk over, she decided to lie.

"She said she got it from her boss, but she thought her ex-boyfriend was stalking her on it or something... so, yeah, she gave it to me."

The story had too many holes in it to hold up over a long period of time, and if he began questioning her, she would stutter to much and giver herself away. But he didn't ask. He held up his hand, and she noticed that the NSA agent stopped his approach.

"Sarah, I," he paused. "I'm sorry, but, uh, I think your friend is involved with some very... uh, unsavory characters."

"What?" She went for shock, figuring that would be the appropriate response for a normal person. She almost wished she'd established herself as a ditz... or that she'd had enough knowledge of the world to know that her phone wasn't kosher.

Suddenly the NSA agent was behind her, nudging her arm. Chuck gave him a glare, and then immediately returned to look into her eyes.

"Sarah, I think we gotta talk."

"Chuck, what's going on?"

"You just... you gotta trust me, ok?"

It was maybe a little bit funny that she didn't have to calculate her answer when she replied, "Ok."

**Home Theater Room**

**Buy-More**

**Burbank, California**

**16:00**

When the large NSA man locked the door behind their small group, she had a fleeting thought that they would kill her. But then they didn't. The large man pressed some buttons on a remote, while Chuck closed the blinds. After a series of confirmations and beeps, a woman in a well-pressed uniform appeared on-screen.

The nameplate on her desk says General Beckman. Sarah tries to keep her eyes from popping out of her skull. The General of the National Security Agency is looking her in the faces, scrutinizing her. Sarah waits patiently for the General to denounce her, to point through the screen and shout, "Arrest her! She turned on the CIA!"

But the General didn't, because the General really didn't communicate with the CIA about these things. The CIA assumed that Sarah Walker was dead. They had her file erased, embarrassed that they'd allowed such a promising recruit to die on such a simple mission. Stone had made sure there wasn't any trace of her left.

They knew of him, of course, but that's a story for another day.

"Major Casey, would you please introduce me to your guest?"

"Yes ma'am, this is, uh..."

"Sarah, General, ma'am!" Chuck supplied.

The General gave Sarah her full, sardonic, attention.

"Sarah Walker," Sarah mumbled, trying to play the part of a girl caught in an espionage scandal. It really wasn't that hard.

"Alright then, Sarah Walker, what the hell are you doing here," she turned her attention back to Chuck and Major Casey, "And why the hell did you two bring her here? We just finished a briefing, I have other matters to deal with. You, Mr. Bartowski, are not the only pain in my ass, even though you may be the largest."

Chuck shuffled his feat, and Sarah wondered how this lowly Buy-More NerdHerder had garnered the personal attention of a high ranking General.

"Well, General, Sarah came into the store today about her phone," Chuck began, and showed the General her phone in the process, "She told me she got it from a friend, and didn't know how to work it. I uh, recognized it from some files I've uh, seen, and identified it as a phone specifically used by members of an elitist terrorist group."

Chuck paused, assuming that his explanation was complete. Sarah's suspicions grew, Major Casey gave him a less than gentle nudge, and the General's stare expressed her expectations more than words could.

"There wasn't a name! Trust me, I want to know too. According to the... files... the CIA intercepted a phone like this in an illegal arms shipment, but under interrogation could find no group to claim them. The NSA then took over interrogations and discovered that too many groups could lay claim to the phone. The results were inconclusive, officially, the group is listed as 'unknown'."

"Very well, Mr. Bartowski," The General shifted her attention, once again. "Ms. Walker, would you care to divulge the identity of your friend?"

"Well, she's, uh," Sarah tried to stall. She needed a fake name, a name that wouldn't lead to anyone, but wasn't too obvious in its fakery. She needed a dead end.

"Ms. Walker, if you aren't willing to indulge us, perhaps you can have a chat with Major Casey. I'm sure he could convince you..."

"No, no! Uh, her name is Flora."

"Flora," The General restated.

"Flora Waters."

Major Casey suddenly had a coughing fit that happened to sound like, 'fake name'. The General released a frustrated sigh. Chuck looked a bit confused. Sarah tried to look frightened.

"And where did you meet Flora Waters, Ms. Walker."

"Um, at the florist... I was shopping for my mother, she was sick in the hospital."

Sarah figured that if General Beckman were a lesser woman, she would have face-palmed. She wanted to smile at the utter ridiculousness of her story, but it was important to keep her cover as a betrayed friend.

"Ms. Walker, Mr. Bartowski, you are dismissed. I would like to speak to Major Casey briefly. Ms. Walker, please wait for the Major to debrief you."

"Wait, what's going on? What does Flora have to do with this?" Sarah questioned, the panic rising in her tone. She would have kept going if Chuck hadn't grabbed her wrist and gently led her out of the room.

**Buy-More**

**Burbank, California**

**16:30**

He releases his light hold on her wrist as soon as they're outside the room, and there's this small part of her hidden deep inside that misses that simple human touch.

She follows him to the NerdHerd desk, noticing that the two that had occupied it before were now gone. Thankfully. Chuck sat down, and motioned for her to sit opposite of him.

"So, I'm sure you have a lot of questions," he began. She nodded in her head in response.

"Yes, I mean, duh. That was dumb of me. See, I have a lot of questions too. I guess we're floating in the same boat, huh?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, as hard as this may seem to belief," he smiled, a full one this time, "I'm not the most experienced agent in the world."

"Well, I don't know about that," she teased, "But you're definitely not like the others. Major Casey and the General, I mean. You're much nicer."

His cheeks developed a light rosy tinge to them, and he looked down at his shoes.

"Well, there isn't much competition in that category," he spoke playfully, and she laughed. She _laughed_. And then she spoke without thinking:

"You're a funny guy, Chuck."

What the hell has gotten into her?

Before the situation could spiral out of control, she decided to follow whatever feeling was developing in her gut. No, no, not _that_ feeling, she tried to remind herself. Her plan just seemed to be developing in a way that would kill two birds with one stone.

"Oh, shoot!" She exclaimed suddenly, looking down at her watch, "I have a meeting with a realtor in just a few minutes!"

"Oh, boy, yeah, you should really get going I guess..."

"Here," she spoke as she scribbled a number on a nearby NerdHerd business card, "Have the Major or the General call me for that debriefing thing, it's my old cell. It should still work. And, um, Chuck?"

"Yeah?"

"Since I'm new in town, I was wondering if you're ever free to show me around, or..."

Her question was interrupted by a frazzled looking man and his young daughter. Chuck gave her an apologetic smile and turned to help the customer. She knew she should really be going, she supposedly had a meeting with a realtor starting any second now, but she couldn't tear herself away.

She tried walk away, but was only accomplishing her task slowly. She watched as Chuck tried to calm down the poor man. She watched as he enlisted the help of a tall, curly headed, man and a short woman who didn't seem to be following the dress code. She noticed the worried look in the eyes of the small girl in the pink tutu, and she saw Chuck comfort her. She tried to push the animal thought that Chuck would make an excellent father out of her mind. She barely knows him, for Pete's sake.

As the music starts, and the little girl's image appears on the wall of televisions, Sarah walks out of the store, her mind ablaze. She'd been thinking probably too much inside that store. She'd met a General of the NSA, and had come within spitting distance of a man that could I.D. her as an enemy operative. But throughout it all, the acting and the smiling and the _laughing_, only one pervasive thought has been running through her mind. It was the only one that made complete sense:

What if Chuck Bartowski _was_ the Intersect?


End file.
